Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
MASON
Morning sunlight filters through the frost-covered windows, casting golden patterns across my kitchen floor. I haven't slept well. My mind kept replaying Destiny's story, imagining what she endured at the hands of a man who was supposed to protect her.
The quiet padding of feet on hardwood announces her before she appears in the doorway. Her blonde curls are sleep-tousled, her face makeup-free. The bruise around her eye has darkened overnight, the swelling slightly worse.
"Morning," she says with a cautious smile. "Please tell me that's coffee I smell."
I pour her a cup and slide it across the counter. "Sleep okay?"
"Best night's sleep in weeks." She wraps her hands around the mug, inhaling the steam. "Turns out not fearing for your safety does wonders for insomnia."
Her ability to find humor in her situation is either admirable or concerning. Probably both.
"Any sign of our unwelcome visitor?" she asks, glancing toward the windows.
"Not since yesterday." I check my security app again. The cameras I installed last year after a bear destroyed my trash cans have proven unexpectedly useful for monitoring suspicious vehicles. "But that doesn't mean we should let our guard down."
"Never," she agrees, her voice hardening momentarily before she brightens again. "So what's on the agenda today? How do we convince Whisper Vale we're madly in love?"
"Small towns run on gossip. We just need to be seen together enough times for people to notice." I take a sip of my coffee. "I thought we could go into town, pick up some groceries. Maybe stop by Darlene's Diner for lunch."
"That's it?" She sounds disappointed. "No dramatic declarations? No scandalous PDA?"
"This isn't a Hallmark movie," I point out, though her enthusiasm makes me smile despite myself. "People here know me. If I suddenly start acting lovestruck, they'll know something's up."
"Fair point." She hops onto a stool at the counter. "I should probably know more about you anyway. For authenticity's sake."
"What do you want to know?"
"Everything." Her eyes sparkle with genuine interest. "But we can start with the basics. Favorite color? Food preferences? Any secret talents I should be aware of?"
"Blue. Anything except eggplant. And I play guitar, though I wouldn't call it a talent."
She gasps. "You play guitar? That's definitely going in our love story. I can see it now, rugged mountain therapist serenades city girl teacher under the stars..."
"Let's not get carried away."
"Too late. It's canon now." She grins. "Your turn to ask me something."
This back-and-forth continues through breakfast. I learn she's twenty-seven ("Almost twenty-eight!
"), loves teaching second grade ("They're independent enough to tie their shoes but still think you hang the moon"), has a weakness for cheesy Christmas movies ("The predictability is comforting"), and makes the best snickerdoodles in Southern California ("State fair blue ribbon two years running").
She's easy to talk to, drawing information from me without it feeling like an interrogation. Before I realize it, I've told her about my therapy practice, my work with Jax's wilderness program, and even a bit about my failed engagement to Sarah.
"So that's why your sister signed you up for the service," she muses. "She wanted to help you move on."
"She wanted to meddle," I correct her. "Moving on implies I'm stuck in the past."
"And you're not?" Her question is gentle, not accusatory.
"I learned a valuable lesson from Sarah." I rinse my coffee mug in the sink, keeping my back to her. "Some people aren't meant to carry others' burdens. I do that professionally now, not personally."
"That sounds lonely."
I turn to find her watching me with something uncomfortably close to compassion.
"It's practical." I dry my hands on a dish towel. "Now, if we're going into town, you might want to do something about—”
"My face?" She touches her bruise self-consciously. "Yeah, I brought concealer. Give me twenty minutes."
While she gets ready, I check the security cameras again and make a quick call to Sheriff Tom Parker, a client, old friend and fellow bachelor until recently when he got with my sister.
"I need a favor," I tell him after explaining the situation with Destiny's ex. "California plates, black Escalade. Probably using fake ID."
"I'll keep an eye out," Tom promises. "Does she want to file a restraining order?"
"Not yet. She's afraid it'll just confirm her location." I lower my voice, though Destiny's still upstairs. "This guy has connections, Tom. Police, private investigators. We need to be careful."
"Understood. I'll be discreet." He pauses. "So you're pretending to be engaged?"
"It seemed like the simplest cover. Her ex is a principal, so appearances matter. If he hears around town Destiny is getting married, he may back off."
"Uh-huh." I can practically hear his smirk. "Because getting a predator back off is always so simple. Right."
"Don't start," I warn him.
"Wouldn't dream of it. See you at Darlene's."
Destiny comes downstairs as I'm hanging up. She's done something impressive with makeup, the bruise nearly invisible unless you know what to look for. Her blonde curls are tamed into a stylish ponytail, and she's wearing jeans with a green sweater that brings out the gold flecks in her hazel eyes.
"Will I pass inspection?" she asks, doing a little twirl.
My mouth goes dry. "You look great."
She beams at the simple compliment, and I'm struck by how little it takes to make her happy. A safe place to sleep. A hot meal. A few kind words. The bare minimum any human deserves, yet she acts like I've given her the moon.
It makes me want to punch her ex in the face.
"Ready to go convince a town we're in love?" She loops her arm through mine, leaning close enough that I can smell her fruity and light shampoo.
"As I'll ever be."
The drive into Whisper Vale takes fifteen minutes, the winding mountain road offering spectacular views of snow-covered pines and the occasional deer. Destiny presses her nose to the window like an excited kid, pointing out particularly beautiful vistas.
"It's like a Christmas card," she sighs happily. "I've never lived anywhere with actual seasons. San Diego is basically seventy degrees year-round."
"You might change your tune when it's negative ten and your car won't start."
"Nope." She shakes her head firmly. "I love it. All of it."
Her enthusiasm is contagious. I point out landmarks as we drive, the old copper mine, the hiking trail that leads to Crystal Falls, the overlook where locals go stargazing in summer.
"We should go there," she says. "To the overlook. For our fake engagement story."
"It's covered in three feet of snow right now."
"Even more romantic! You proposed under a blanket of stars, snowflakes catching in my eyelashes..." She sighs dramatically. "No one would doubt our love story with details like that."
I chuckle despite myself. "You missed your calling as a romance novelist."
"Please. I'd be terrible at it." She leans back in her seat. "I'm too practical for all that swooning and pining."
"Says the woman who just invented a snow-covered proposal scene straight out of a Hallmark movie."
"That's different. That's strategy." She winks at me. "Know your audience, right?"
We arrive in town, Main Street decorated for Christmas with wreaths on every lamppost and twinkling lights strung between buildings. Destiny's eyes widen with delight at the giant Christmas tree in the town square.
"Oh my God, it's perfect!" She claps her hands together. "When's the tree lighting ceremony?"
"Tomorrow night." I park in front of the general store. "How did you know we have one?"
"Every small town has a tree lighting. It's like, required by law." She unbuckles her seatbelt. "We're going, right?"
"If you want to."
"I definitely want to." She reaches for my hand as we exit the truck, her fingers warm despite the cold air. "Proper couples hold hands," she whispers, squeezing gently.
Her touch sends an unexpected jolt through me. It's been so long since I've held anyone's hand that the simple contact feels startlingly intimate.
The general store is busy with holiday shoppers. Destiny stays close to my side, our joined hands drawing curious glances from locals who know me as the perpetually single therapist.
"Mason Walsh, as I live and breathe." Mrs. Peterson appears from behind a display of Christmas ornaments. "Who's your lovely friend?"
"Fiancée, actually." The word feels strange in my mouth. "Destiny, this is Mrs. Peterson. She taught me third grade a lifetime ago."
"It's wonderful to meet you," Destiny gushes, turning on the charm. "Mason's told me so much about Whisper Vale. I can see why he loves it here."
Mrs. Peterson looks between us, clearly delighted by this development. "Fiancée! My goodness, when's the wedding?"
"We haven't set a date yet," I say before Destiny can invent something elaborate. "Still getting used to the idea ourselves."
"Well, I never thought I'd see the day." Mrs. Peterson pats my arm. "You've been alone in that cabin too long. It's about time you found someone to warm your heart."
"And other things," Destiny adds with a suggestive smile that makes me choke.
Mrs. Peterson cackles with laughter. "I like her, Mason. Don't mess this one up."
As she bustles away to spread the news, Destiny leans into my side, giggling. "Too much?"
"Just right," I admit. "She'll tell everyone in town before dinner."
We continue shopping, gathering groceries and enduring more curious introductions. Destiny plays her role perfectly, clearly smitten but not putting on a show. By the time we reach Darlene's Diner for lunch, half the town knows about Mason Walsh's surprise engagement.
Darlene herself seats us in a prime booth by the window. "Bout time you settled down," she tells me, slapping menus on the table. "This one's too pretty for you."